An anonymous MP has given us a whistle blowing account of the goings on within the walls of power in this country. Meeting him at a Holiday Inn just outside of Slough he spoke at length about the sordid affairs of parliament over a 2.99 continental breakfast, most likely claimed back in expenses.

Talking to us through mouthfuls of flaky croissant and slurps of freshly squeezed orange juice, he told us of Westminster secrets.

‘If the public knew what went on behind closed doors, we would have a full blown revolt on our hands.’ He says as pastry crumbs spray the table we sit at.

‘Some evenings it may as well be clothing optional, lots of pale naked bodies giggling as they run through dark corridors. Last week a hedonistic UV foam party was held, I can tell you now the PM was there dressed in latex, top to tail, leading her husband by a chain, who dressed up as a dog’.

‘The Foreign Secretary is the worst offender though, he is a ring leader for the debauchery that occurs on almost a daily basis. He requested that £10,000 be spent installing a Jagermeister pump in the Commons Smoking Room.’ He continues at pace.

‘Remember the scandal surrounding old Cameron and the pigs head? How we laughed at that, as its rather innocent compared to what some of the Peers get up too,’ Joking over his finished breakfast.

‘….It’s basically just a slightly posher Malaga behind closed doors, the plebs might think they have their fun, but oh no, I can guarantee you, the parties here are beyond most people’s wildest dreams, all held at the taxpayers expense….’

The Rambler now begins the task of ascertaining whether or not what he speaks of is truth or lies, it could just be a tool of distraction to avoid more Brexit woes, but having heard the tales and seeing the glint in the PMs eyes recently, one would suggest it at least holds a grain of truth.

As the 21st century continues at pace, while the very fabric of society rots in front of our eyes, one particularly enlightened politician, a certain Jacob Rees-Mogg, has weighed in his two cents on how to improve our current predicaments.

In a rousing speech in his local constituency this morning, where he mentioned the battle of Agincourt at least twice and touched on the idea of bringing back rationing and spam for post- Brexit Britain. However, the most important topic of the speech was the games our children play at school.

In a twenty minute segment, he went into great detail about the necessary importance of reintroducing Victorian games back into schools. With great passion he espoused the games of hoop & stick and pass the slipper.

‘These games will re-instill the lost identity of our great peoples’ He concluded.

When our reporter contacted Ofsted for comment, they waved the idea away as foolish, saying that in most schools, children could not be trusted to play nicely with big sticks and slippers, citing the fact that the equipment would be used for hitting one another, rather than the traditional playing of the games.

There are many things that bring us together as Britons, such as baked beans, car boot sales, mild discontentment at queueing, tutting at the news and chicken korma. However, a distraught man contacted our news desk this morning with news that is truly sickening.

The man in question actually made eye contact with a stranger on a train. Apparently they were sitting across from each other when the stranger dropped their phone on the floor. Being nice enough to pick it up and hand it back to the fellow train rider was the mistake. At the same time as looking up, the stranger looked down, where they locked eyes for almost three seconds.

What followed was an tensely awkward round of ‘thank yous’ and ‘don’t mention its’ as the pair fought furiously with their internal embarrassment. Both involved stared out of the window for the remainder of the five minute journey.

There are stories we are reluctant to print, and this article is one of them, but we are proud of our Britishness here at The Rambler.

Being the simple creatures we are, we become attached and comfortable with objects that we like to name our ‘favourite’, but little time is given to the objects themselves and whether they like you back or not. For one particular beverage mug, the past two years have been hell.

‘I think I was given as a birthday or Christmas present, a few years ago but I can’t remember,’ She says through a mouth crusted with tea and coffee stains.

‘Please just at least rinse me out, I am better than this.’ Sobbing quietly she pleads with our journalist.

The owner in question is a recruitment consultant, 28, working in Guildford.

‘I used to live at his home, with my friends and I always came out of the dishwasher looking like a brand new me, but I was shoved in his gym bag and taken to a new place, which turned out to be his work desk. I am the only mug around, he hasn’t washed me for months.’ She concedes morosely.

With the man more interested in playing candy crush while his manager isn’t looking, it seems it will be sometime before the mug is washed.

There’s nothing like a trip down memory lane, especially for an old timer who was actually there. Graham McGooch, nearly like the cricketer but not quite, was actually alive during the 1970s.

In fact the grey haired peak cap wearing man was a geography teacher back in the day, he was in his prime, with locks like Kevin Keegan and suits like Elton John. We met him at his desired spot, on a park bench while he was feeding the pigeons, like he does every morning, he admits he finds solace with his bird friends.

‘There weren’t another decade like it.’ He begins,

‘It was great being able to comment on a female colleagues bust or having a cheeky grope at the Christmas party, no one would bat an eyelid. Nowadays you’d have 17 court cases and your face all over that social media’.

‘National television was the same, sexist and racist jokes, they say it was discriminatory but I just found it funny. Youngsters don’t know how good they’ve got it.’

‘I miss the food he continues, meat and two veg every Sunday, corned beef sandwiches in the week, lots of brandy butter at Christmas. Now it’s just tikka masala this and organic that, they’ve disgraced British food, in my honest opinion.’

Several hours later, after listening to very unpolitically correct opinions, our intern managed to escape after claiming he was going to get them some tea so they could carry on chatting the day away.

This may have insulted the man somewhat as he left a rather long winded answer phone message on our newsdesk and has promised to take a complaint to Ofcom.

Grimsby builder and UKIP voter, Carl Smith, 42, today had a stark revelation that most of the people he has employed will either have to return home or choose to leave after a Brexit deal is agreed.

Always vocal in the local about how immigration has ruined this country, it hasn’t stopped him from employing cheaper European labourers- for the benefit of his building company.

‘This country is called Great Britain, not much about it is great anymore, we have opened our borders for far too long and the snowflake lefties are taking over, letting the Islamics and their ray guns introduce Sharia Law’ He states over a pint of bitter.

‘Our men didn’t fight and die for this during World War 2, just shocking that. Can’t even go to supermarket these days without feeling rage, Polish and Kosher sections? My word this country has gone to the dogs’ He says sadly, voice etched with anger.

When asked why he has employed so many Eastern Europeans, he responds,

‘No brainer that, they are willing to work for peanuts all hours of the day, much harder working and more productive than the soft English lads’.

So what happens when they all leave?

‘Yeah, haven’t really thought that far ahead, the wife wants a water feature on our driveway but it could be awhile.’

This week has been a strange week for news, everyday, the blonde rugger lover and rapscallion Boris Johnson, has somehow managed to appear in daily headlines. But as we head towards the end of the week, the Foreign Secretary was reported as missing from office this morning as news broke he is related to a sex mad noble from the 18th Century.

Westminster Officials and Police teams spent hours looking for the distinguishable man until they were tipped off by the owner of a greasy spoon cafe not far from the Palace.

Eye witness reports have been confirmed that a fat blonde man in a suit had spent hours sitting in a lonely corner of the cafe. Apparently writing what appeared to be a manifesto he was overheard muttering to himself ‘dole bludgers’ and ‘bridges everywhere’ before spending some time trying to build model bridges, tongue sticking out in concentration, without much success.

‘It was barmy’ says the cafe owner,

‘I knew who he was soon as he walked in, he offered me £15 and a model bridge to keep quiet, which I took obviously, but after seeing what he was up to, I notified the authorities’

‘He tried to order flour soup and well hung pheasant but I had to remind him that those dishes were Victorian and hadn’t been sold for well over a hundred years’

We managed to catch a few words from Boris as he was escorted back to work by his aides,

‘Well this is rather bumfuzzling, the cafe owner is a gubbins, a no good flibbertigibbet, a down right bloviate, I may have bibbled a little bit but I am not a snollygoster, no matter what he says, I was not writing a new manifesto for my own Bridge Party nor I am trying to push for the Premiership’

Mr. Johnson did in fact have a notebook pressed closed to his chest with the words ‘B.Js secrets’ scribbled on the front with child like drawings of famous bridges.

There are times in life that make you stop and look back at who you once were. This is exactly what is happening to Clara McHarvey, an English Lit student at the University of Sussex.

The 21 year old can’t believe how naive she was just a few years ago when she still listened to Justin Bieber, bought scrunchies and thought eating pick and mix sweets whilst watching a film at the local entertainment complex was ‘civilised’.

Now she lives in student digs sharing with a couple of friends from her course and some nocturnal stoners who haven’t seen the sun for awhile.

“It’s so great living independently’ says the newly nose pierced Clara, whose parents pay her rent.

‘Finally I feel like I can explore who I am, you know’ She continues, after taking a puff from her rollie.

Before she wore leggings and Adidas trainers, now she wears polka dot dresses and DM boots.

‘Can’t believe the hair I used to have’ She replies when asked about her style. Now she has had a fringe cut in, she won’t look back.

Showing us around her room, she shows off her Blue Velvet poster and copies of cult penguin classics such as One Flew Over The Cuckoo Nests and To Kill A Mockingbird. She says she is just getting into David Lynch films as well.

‘My music taste is really eclectic now, I have fallen in love with The Smiths and The Grateful Dead, often I listen to grime or trap music, I even go to grime nights now, just to feel edgy’

Weekend rock n roller, Sam Cartwright, had a somewhat smug, yet tired, look on his face when he successfully managed to make it to his mug littered desk on time this morning.

Not quite remembering what he did over the weekend due to being blackout drunk for 39 hours straight, the hung-over Londoner sat at his desk, trying to piece together his weekend.

‘To be honest with you’ He begins telling our reporter, full of toxic masculinity,

‘I went for beers on Friday lunch time around 1pm and the next thing I know was my alarm waking me up at 7am this morning. Bloody madness.’ He laughs enthusiastically as only a ‘lad’ can at the extremeness of his drinking and the potential danger to his well being.

Knocking back the haggardness with two double espressos and a bacon sandwich with a satisfying belch, he carries on,

‘I kinda have this hazy memory of being in some rave surrounded by naked people being drawn by other people, proper funny haha’ He laughs off his shame again, while his co workers adjacent to him grimace quietly.

Turns out he wasn’t at a rave but actually a Neon Light Life Drawing event that is taking place in London this month.

When asked if he would do the same this weekend,

‘Are you mad, of course I will, I am just a lad at the end of the day’ He smiles fondly.